


A little pirate's best friend

by monsunwind



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Childhood Memories, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Psychological Trauma, Series 4 Fix-it..ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsunwind/pseuds/monsunwind
Summary: Ten year old John Watson moves with his mum to a small village near the coast. There he becomes best friends with the little pirate Sherlock Holmes and together they experience some great adventures.But soon some tragic events threaten to seperate the two boys. Will their friendship be strong enough to survive the losses they soon have to deal with?





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After years of reading hundreds of fanfiction in this fandom, my time has come to contribute something to it :)  
> I fell in love with BBC's Sherlock in 2012 and it's still my favourite TV show ever.  
> Even if series 4 had its ups and downs, I really enjoyed it and with this story I wanted to fix some of the things that happened in TFP, that I didn't agree that much with. I think this story has waaaay more potential that what they showed to us and so this came to life (it even has some Johnlock in it ... somwhere... sometime... ;3 )  
> Hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> monsunwind

 

“ _ **I am that lost, oh, who will find me**_

_**deep down below the old beech tree?”** _

 

 

 

 

 

John Hamish Watson slowly walks through Russel Square Gardens.

With every step he leans heavily on the walking stick in his right hand, and tries to forget the pain that shoots through his left leg each time he puts weight on it.

His thoughts circle around the war. The battlefields he's been to in the last years.

The sand, the heat, the noise of gunfire, explosions, blood, tears, shouting soldiers.

He can still remember the feeling of the adrenaline shooting through every pore of his body. The fear of getting shot every second.

The feeling of the warm blood of wounded man.

The broken promises he made to the brave young soldiers, who were dying under his hands, never to see their loved ones back home again.

The agony as the bullet rips a hole through his body.

The white, hot heat that spreads from his shoulder into every part of him.

The pain, that would never seem to end.

The prayer he spoke in his mind over and over, “Please God, let me live.”

At the same time wishing for it to end. One way or the other.

 

Lost in his memories he almost didn't hear the voice of his old mate from uni, Mike Stamford. He's teaching students at a hospital now.

St Bartholomew's Hospital - where they used to study, too. It seems like a lifetime ago.

How young he has been. How naïve.

After all he's been through, becoming a doctor was the best decision he's ever made.

He loved learning all about the human anatomy, how a body works, the diseases one can catch, how to cure sick people. And he loves that this profession gives him a purpose. A new direction in his life.

He could help people now.

 

He couldn't help some people back then.

When he was just a kid, when he didn't know how to cope with mental illness, with loneliness, with loss, with heartbreak and guilt.

He tries to stop this train of thoughts as soon as they come.

The thoughts about the little boy with the chocolate brown, unruly curls. His pirate hat and bright red wellies. How he jumped through the sand on the shore. Mud splashing around him, as he waves his wooden sabre around. His Irish Setter dog always beside him. The laughter.

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head as if the motion could stop the memories from flooding in. It's over. It's been over for a long time, almost 30 years now. It almost feels like a dream now.

 

He follows his old mate Mike to his working place.

 

He tells him about his bad financial situation at the moment. You can't afford London on an army pension. And after his mother had died a few years ago there isn't anyone else who could help him out now. He's not even able to help himself out. He can't be a doctor any more. Not with the tremor in his dominant hand. The hurting leg. The memories.

And now he's supposed to meet a friend of Mike. A potential flatmate. He hasn't much hope that this man would want to share a flat with him.

Who in his right mind would? With a depressed, disabled army doctor, who couldn't even sleep because of night terrors.

They arrive at St Bart's and go straight down to the labs, where research and teaching is done.

 

And there he stands.

Bowed over a petri dish with a pipette in his right hand.

Dressed in a black suit and white shirt.

Almost black, curly hair on his head, framing the high cheekbones and the bright blue-grey eyes that gaze at the intruders as soon as they step into the lab.

His gaze roams over them and John feels a shot of adrenaline course through his body.

Those eyes. This intensive look. So strangely familiar.

 

“Mike, can I borrow your phone?” the deep baritone voice sounds through the room and John can't help but stare at the man the voice belongs to. Mike has left his mobile in his coat when they arrived, so John offers his instead.

The potential flatmate stands up and walks over with a quiet “Oh, thank you.” and takes the offered phone out of John's hand. He starts texting, while Mike introduces John to him.  
Instantly the man looks up from the mobile and for a few seconds looks almost shocked at John but with a slow shake of his head he continues to write on the borrowed phone in his hands.

 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”, he then mutters and John can't believe the things the man deduces about his former profession as an army doctor and his psychosomatic limp, that he developed after getting shot in the shoulder and being invalided out of the army.

 

Startled he continues to listen to this fascinating man as he goes on about his own bad habits, because flatmates should know the worst about each other. Not talking for days on end and playing the violin when he's thinking.

The violin.

Instantly a memory from a long time ago comes to John's head. A young girl with dark brown pigtails. A melody. The little fingers holding the bow of her beautiful violin as it floats over the instrument.

Another memory of a boy. Yellow jumper and unruly curls. Holding a violin and being furious about his slow progress in learning, while producing a screeching noise out of the poor strings.

John's heart begins to pound in his chest and he feels the blood rush through his ears as he sees the man before him and the little boy in his memory from thirty years ago.

Those curls. Those eyes. The violin.

Could it be?

 

Nervously he licks over his upper lip, and continues to stare at the middle aged man, who apparently waits for him to say something. Mike seems to be quite confused by this whole situation, stating from the look on his face.

 

“What's-” John eventually starts to talk, but has to stop because of the faltering of his nervous voice, “What's your name?”

 _'Please say it,'_ he pleads in his head.

 

Curious blue eyes roam over him. “Sherlock Holmes,” The man answers a little confused about the nervousness of the other man and extends his hand for his acquaintance to shake.

John slowly nods his head, as he looks down at the pale hand with the long elegant fingers, before he wraps his own slightly shaking ones around them.

He looks up and can't help the tears from starting to fill his eyes and the little smile to form on his lips.

 

_'I found you.'_

 

“Nice to meet you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

 


	2. Meeting you

_\- Summer 1991/Sussex -_

 

 

The rushing of the gentle waves sounded in his ears. He took a deep breath and inhaled the salty air while closing his eyes and let the sun warm his skin and the gentle wind blow through his short blonde hair.

He continued to stroll along the beach. It had been a long time since he last saw the sea. He was eleven years old now and until his ninth birthday he and his family always came down from London to the sea to be on vacation for a few weeks in the summer.  
Then there wasn't enough money to do that and now there was the divorce.

John wasn't that surprised when his parents told him that they didn't love each other any more. After all the fighting and shouting, even a child young as him understood that.

And so it was settled that he would move away with his mother to a small village near the coast, where his mother inherited a little house from a deceased aunt a few years ago, while his little sister Harry stayed in London with their father.

 

He continued his short walk along the shore, lost in thoughts about his friends back in London. He didn't know when he'd be able to see them again. He hoped that he would find some new friends in school, but first there was that long summer break and he really had no idea what to do with all this time away from the city and his mates.

Lost in his thoughts he almost didn't notice the blowing white sail of a little boat a few metres away from him.

It gently swayed in the sea and John hurriedly walked over to inspect it.

The white boat was attached to a rope and a pole. It's sail continued to blow in the wind and so was a black flag at the rear of the boat, that had a skull and crossbones on it.

John instantly knew what that meant: A pirate ship!

Excited he got a little closer to it, so that his shoes and trouser legs became instantly wet.

On the flank of the white wood was written the name “Sherrinford” in a beautiful writing.

He battled with the thought of stepping inside the boat, just to try it out for a moment, when a loud voice cut through the peaceful atmosphere a second ago, “Step away from my ship!”

 

Startled John turned around and took in the sight of a boy in a yellow jumper and bright red wellies, whose dark curls were covered by a big pirate hat, adorned with a skull and crossbones, just like on the flag of the boat he stood next to.

By the sight of the long, wooden sabre in the child's hand which pointed threatening in his direction and the big, red-brownish furred dog beside the boy, which was gazing intensely at him, John stepped away from the boat and held his hands up in surrender.

 

“Who are you?” the little boy asked in a childlike high voice, that sounded strangely posh to John's ears, came closer and let his sceptical, light blue eyes wander over him.

“I'm John Watson. I-I live down in the village,” John couldn't help but stutter a little under the intensive glare of the smaller boy before him.

“I know all the children in the village, why have I never seen you there before?”

“Because I just moved here with my mum. We're from London.”

 

With a sceptical huff the brown haired child took a step further in John's direction, not lowering his weapon, so that he reflexively stepped back further into the sea behind him as well.

Unfortunately while walking backwards, he tripped over a big stone, that stuck in the muddy sand. He managed to keep his balance for a second, but lost the fight against gravity and fell hard on his backside.

 

“Ouch!” John wasn't able to hold back a little cry of pain at the ungentle landing.

“Are you alright?” the boy in the pirate hat was by his side in an instant, put his sabre in a holster on his belt and knelt down beside him. The big dog appeared by his other side and nudged him softly in the shoulder.

 

Surprised John took in the sight before him. The blue-eyed child really seemed concerned about his well being, judging by the concerned look and the strong grip with which he held on to John shoulders now, as if to keep him from falling backwards.

John couldn't help but grin. Not the bad pirate he would like to be then.

“Sure, it wasn't that bad,” he answered the boy, a little embarrassed of his ungracious fall and slowly got up from the cold sand.

He tried to wipe some of the mud off his trousers, but to no no avail, as they were really soaked through because of the wet ground he landed on the beach.

The dog beside him continued to nudge against his thigh and waggled its tail, as to get his attention.

A little hesitantly John stroked over the surprisingly soft head of the pet, which continued to waggle its tail in excitement. “Hello you,” he greeted the dog.

 

“His name's Redbeard,” the skinny pirate boy before him announced and also petted its long red fur.

“That's a very fitting name. Nice to meet you Redbeard. And who are you?” John addressed the smaller boy before him, who still hadn't made his name known.

 

“I'm Wil-” the little pirate stopped introducing himself and hesitated before he started again in a much more confident voice: “I'm Sherlock Holmes. I am seven years old and Captain of this ship, “ he pointed proudly at said ship with its pirate flag, that waved in the summer breeze “and this is my beach where no stranger is allowed to play!”

“Oh I'm sorry I didn't know that, as I'm new here. I just really liked your boat, did you build it?” John answered and hoped he could melt the ice between them further, because he really would like to get to know this strange little boy a little better.

 

And really Sherlock's blueish eyes seemed instantly to sparkle as he began talking about his apparent passion.

“Yes, I built it with my dad. He's building real big ships, it's his job. And I helped him with the planning and drove with him to work and helped everyday and he promised me to build a biiiig pirate ship when I'm an adult, for me and my crew.

This ship is called Sherrinford, it's for kids, so I can learn how to sail and I named it after one of my ancestors who really was a pirate and I'm planning to sail over all the seas in the world and become the greatest pirate ever.”

A little overwhelmed with this onslaught of new informations, John just was able to pronounce an appreciative “Oh wow!”

This sounded rather interesting. But before he had the chance to formulate an answer, Sherlock started talking again, “Yes, maybe... you could become a pirate, too? I could teach you and we could become friends? I never had a real friend, all the other boys in my class are dumb and I just have my brother and my sister, but they won't play the things I like to play and sometimes it's really boring just with Redbeard, because dogs can't talk. It's the summer holidays now and mummy said I won't have to go back to school 'til autumn, so I have time to play everyday, except when I have violin lessons. So maybe we can meet again tomorrow?”

 

“You talk really much,” John couldn't help but laugh a little and Sherlock smiled at him somewhat shyly and pushed his a little too big pirate hat higher on his head, “Yes, mummy and Mycroft always tell me that, too. Sorry, I try not to do it again.”

“No, it's okay. I like it, you just really seem to have a lot to say. And I would like to become a pirate, too. So we can meet here again tomorrow afternoon, when my mum allows it.”

 

The brown haired boy's eyes started to light up at these words. He clapped his hand in pure joy and jumped up and down, so that his wellies left deep imprints in the muddy sand. Redbeard, his dog started to waggle his long tail and barked in excitement for his master.

“That's so cool, I can't wait for tomorrow. I'll bring my favourite pirate book and I can teach you how to use a sabre and how to sail with a ship. It's going to be so much fun! I have to leave now or I'll be late for dinner and mummy will get cross with me.”

 

“Okay, see you tomorrow, Captain Sherlock,” John reached out his hand and shakes the younger boy's.

“Bye, John,” Sherlock responded with a big grin on his lips and shook his new friends hand another time before he patted his dog on the head and started running across the beach to a little pathway leading up a sandy hill, Redbeard running behind him like a big, brownish shadow.

 

John watched the other boy run away until he couldn't see him any more and shook his head because of this strange encounter he just had.  
He really hadn't thought he would make a new friend on his first day in the new place that will from now on be his home.

He once again tried to knock off some of the now almost dry sand on his trousers. His mum would scold him for getting them dirty, after he put them fresh on in the morning when they left London.

He let his eyes wander over the little pirate ship called Sherrinford, with its white sail and waving skull-flag. He couldn't help but grin in excitement at the thought of tomorrow. They would meet again. Sherlock Holmes and him.

It seemed the summer away from the city won't be as boring as he expected it to be.

 

 

 

 


	3. Musgrave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! This story is really so much fun to write.  
> Finally here's the new chapter, where John gets to know some other members of the Holmes Clan. Hope you like it :)

 

 

 

“And you're really sure your parents allow me to have lunch with you?”

 

“Sure, why not? And anyway I want to show you the book I was telling you about, you remember? About Blackbeard, the pirate.”

Excited the little boy called Sherlock, with his big skull and crossbones-hat that always adorned his head, walked beside his new friend John, his Irish Setter dog Redbeard by his other side.

 

The pair of them had met just two days before on the beach, where John was admiring the younger one's ship, that his father built for him.

They instantly clicked and spent the following afternoon together, playing pirates and sailing with the little ship over the see in the calm bay it usually lies. Sherlock was constantly prattling on about piratey stories and facts, while John having a hard time memorizing everything he is told, but being honestly fascinated by the huge knowledge the younger boy seemed to have about his favourite topic.

They had so much fun together that they decided to meet the next day again at noon.

  
John was happy to have found a friend that quickly after arriving here just a few days ago, and his mother was equally relieved that her son seems to be this excited about meeting with his new budddy, while she had time to prepare their new home in the little village they just moved after her divorce.

 

And here the ten year old boy was, following his friend up a pathway to his house to eat lunch, after they have spent the last few hours down by the beach, practising sword fighting with wooden sabres and planing a treasure hunt for the next day.

When they continued their walk up the sandy road, a big house slowly came into view.  
It looked impressive to John. Greyish brick stones, big white framed windows, many funnel like, strange looking chimneys; the whole building embedded into nature with massive trees surrounding it.

The little boy was instantly fascinated. Here surely must live an old, english family. Or a lord or even the Queen.

“That's my home!” Sherlock let his older friend new, and excited pointed in its vague direction.

 

“What? You live here?” John exclaimed in alarm, “Then are you a lord or something?”

“No, I'm a pirate, silly! The house is called Musgrave Estate. It belonged to my grand-grandmother and now I live there with mummy, dad, and my brother and sister, Redbeard and Norbury.”  
“So uh, is your family rich?” the older boy asked a little intimidated by the whole situation now. He never had a friend living in such a enormous house.

“I think so. Mummy and dad work very much. Mummy is a mathematician at a uni and daddy builds ships.” Sherlock explains his friend's question patently.

“Wow, that sound's uh... nice.” John thinks back about his own new home. Nothing special, just a little cottage, enough room for himself and his mum to live.

“Yes, but we are often alone. Only our Nanny takes care of us, when my parents are at work.”

 

“And Norbury? Is he your butler?”

 

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh wholeheartedly, “No! That's my sister's cat. We don't have a butler. Come on, I'll show you everything.”

They had arrived at the stony path that lead up the last metres to the estate and the little pirate grabbed the other boy's hand, to run with him to the big entrance door in the centre of the building, his dog racing behind them.

 

***  
  
  


A beautiful woman with light blue eyes, that strongly remained John of his friend's and blonde wavy hair opened the door for them.

“Ah my little Captain Sherlock, there you are! Where have you been the whole morning?”

 

“Down by the beach, playing with my-” Sherlock began explaining but was interrupted by the woman, who grabbed his face between her hands and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. A little embarrassed the curly haired boy looked over at his friend, who gave him a unsure smile and then he addressed the adult before him, “Mum stop it!”

He brought a little distance between himself and his mother and rubbed at his recently kissed cheek.

 

“Sorry, but you look just so adorable with your big hat, darling. So, who is this lovely young man you brought along?”

It was John's turn to look somewhat awkwardly by the adjective the woman used to describe him just now.

 

“This is John Watson, he just moved here with his mum and he is my friend and he's a pirate now, too,” Sherlock spoke for his friend, who couldn't help but smile at the proudness that reflected itself in every feature of the younger boy's face while doing that.

“Ah, the infamous John! How nice to meet you. Sherlock has told me so much about you already,” she shook John's hand before continuing, “I'm Violet, Sherlock's mother.

I hope you like it here in our little village? It must be quite different to the city.”

 

“I like it very much, thank you Mrs Holmes,” John answered politely.

“Oh please call me Violet. So boys, sorry but I have to leave now. John, do stay over for lunch and greet your mother from me. And Sherly please don't tease Molly again!” she gives Sherlock a quick severe look, before relaxing her face again, “Do have a nice time you two.” With a wink and a little wave in their direction, the blonde woman then hastily went on to the black car, that was parked a few metres from them, while Sherlock dragged his flabbergasted friend inside the house and shut the door.

“Finally! Sorry my mum was so embarrassing.”

“Ah, don't worry. My mum would have said and done exactly the same things.” John answered the curly haired boy reassuringly and both couldn't help but burst out into laughter at the previous situation. Parents really could be embarrassing!

 

Sherlock then shooed his friend along, through the spacious entrance hall of the house and up a dark wooden staircase. His older friend was gazing in amazement at the richly ornamented wallpapers they passed and the chandelier high above their heads. He felt like in one of this old dramas his mother liked to watch with woman in beautiful gowns and men in tophats and monocles. Maybe Sherlock was a lord after all? But by looking at the green, mud-smeared wellies, the boy wore and the unruly hair under his pirate hat, John dismissed the idea smilingly.

 

Finally they arrived at a door where Sherlock stopped. He hesitated for a moment, before opening it. Once Inside they were welcomed by the sight of a beautiful dining room with a big wooden table, around which some people sat that now gazed curious at the newcomers. Redbeard already lay beside the table, waggling his tail in excitement when he noticed the two people entering, but not getting up from his seemingly comfortable place.

“Ah, Sherlock there you are! I thought you wouldn't make it to lunch like yesterday, so we already started,” the only adult in the room, a woman with a brown, long ponytail greeted said little boy, who dragged John along to two adjoining seats and they both sat down – John more than hesitantly.

“Sorry, Molly. We met mum downstairs and I had to introduce my friend to her before she left.”

 

“ _Friend_?”

A rather chubby boy on the other side of the table asked in mock surprise with a dramatically raised eyebrow, while he stuffed some of the food before him in his mouth and watched John with an observing look.

 

“ **Yes**.” Sherlock answered, seemingly annoyed by the boy and filled his and his friend's plates with fish fingers, mashed potatoes and peas.

“How nice!” the woman 'Molly' shouted out in delight and introduced herself - the nanny in the house since a few weeks, coming from Scotland - and the other present two people in the room to John: The fat boy with his piercing blue eyes and wavy short hair apparently was called Mycroft and was Sherlock's older brother by seven years and the little girl sitting next to him was Eurus, their five year old sister. (John found that name rather strange for a girl, but with two big brothers called Sherlock and Mycroft, she was in good company, he decided.)

She only looked up for a second when Molly mentioned her name, smiled sweetly in John's direction and then continued moving the peas on the plate before her with a knife. The blonde boy couldn't help but notice the tight, white bandages going up her arms on both sides from her wrists almost to the elbows and wondered what must have happened to her to get these.

 

He was interrupted in his thoughts when he heard a question uttered by Mycroft meant for him, “So John, you recently moved here I assume?”

“Yes, how do you know?”

“Well that's easy, going by the state of the shoes you wear at the moment,” John looked down at said ones, that bothered him since they arrived here, because they were wetted through to to the socks and crusted with mud. Mycroft continued swiftly, “They are highly impractical for the muddy beach outside, everyone around here would wear some more solid shoes, not just trainers. That indicates you haven't had the opportunity to buy more suitable ones just yet and the fact that you rather play with our little _William_ here, than with the other boys from the village, I presume you haven't met them yet and Will had the advantage of meeting you first and recruiting you to his little childish pirate plays, that you seem rather to enjoy, as it is the third day in a row now you spent together.”

 

“That's... wow, how did you..? And who's Wi-” John started, but was rather harshly interrupted by Sherlock, who now sprung up from his chair, and grabbed him by the forearm to get him standing, too.

“Stop it now!” he shouted at Mycroft with a furious look on his face and continued dragging his confused friend to the door.

Redbeard was by his side in an instant, awoken by the commotion and following his master and John out of the room.

“Ah sorry, it was nice to meet you and thanks for the meal!” John managed to say in the general direction of the people in the dining room, but wasn't able to make out Molly's answer, because Sherlock pushed the door shut with a rather loud bang.

 

 

The little pirate boy continued dragging the older one up a set of stairs, not answering John's questions about what just happened until they arrived at yet another door, through that they now went into yet another new room.

John was getting rather frustrated now himself. Since they arrived here, he has seen so much and learned so many new things about his new friend, but said one just made decisions over his head and dragged him through the house like a doll.

“Hey, what was is it? Why did we just leave without finishing our lunch?”

 

“I just couldn't stand the stupidity in the room anymore,” the younger boy explained sharply, while he pulled off his dirty green wellies, his face still furiously red, and letting himself fall backwards onto the spacious bed in one corner of the room, his dog lying down before the bed at his feet.

He huffed out a long breath and closed his eyes, his jumper-clad arms spread widely on both sides.

 

John was still fascinated by the way not just Sherlock but also his brother Mycroft seemed to be able to express themselves, even though they were both so young. Sometimes they used words or phrases John wouldn't dream of ever using. Calming down a little by seeing the young boy with his brown curls that were now in full display, as his big pirate hat had fallen off, he slowly moved towards the bed and sat down gingerly beside him.

He bent down and shed his wet shoes and socks too, then began stroking over Redbeard's long fur, as Sherlock opened his eyes and began speaking, “Sorry, I was so angry right now, but my brother is such a prat all the time.”

 

“It's okay,” John answered curtly, while continuing the stroking motion on the dogs soft back. The younger boy slowly sat up and put his skulls and crossbones-hat back on his head. He looked rather unsure now.

“John?”

 

“Mh?”

 

“Are we still friends?”

Taken aback by this question John looked at the dark haired boy, “Of course! Why do you ask?”  
“I just never had a friend and I don't know if I do it right and you seemed angry with me right now.” Sherlock tried to explain. He felt a stinging sensation in his heart when he heard yet again that the younger boy really didn't seem to have had a friend since now. How was this possible? And what about Mycroft's comment about those village boys, John hadn't met yet?  
Stopping the stroking of the dog, he sat up straight and looked Sherlock straight in the eye.

 

“I am your friend,” he reassured his opponent, “but I am not stupid, even though I can't talk like you and your family-” “How do we talk?”, Sherlock interrupted him rather curiously.

“So posh. Just like the queen,” John answered, what made his friend laugh, “We do not!”

“Yes you do!” John joined into the laughter.

 

When they both calmed down a bit, Sherlock got up and went to a drawer from which he fetched a pair of socks that he offered to his barefooted friend.

Immediately John pulled them on and noticed the white skull on the black piece of clothing and giggled. “You really are a pirate, are you?!”  
“I told you so!”

 

“So... what was this all about? Why did Mycroft call you 'William'?” John began tentatively, not wanting to anger the younger boy like his brother did just a few minutes ago.

He noticed Sherlock's cheeks becoming a little red, before the boy answered softly, “Because that's my name... 'William Sherlock Scott Holmes'.”

 

“Wow that's a rather long name!” John said in surprise.

 

“Yes, well my grandfathers were called Sherlock and Scott and my mother always loved the name William. I don't like it that much, it's so ordinary and Sherlock sounds much more like a pirate, like Sherrinford. So everyone calls me Sherlock now, but Mycroft sometimes uses the other ones to tease me.”

 

John had to grin. That explanation really fitted his friend.

“And your brother and sister, do they have other names, too?”

“Yes,” Sherlock grinned rather gloatingly, while telling his friend, “''Mycroft Rudolph ' – after my uncles and 'Eurus Gloria', 'Gloria' like one of my grandmothers and 'Eurus' is greek and means 'the east wind'.”

 

“Your brother really got the worst.” John laughed out loud again.

“Yes, when I want to annoy him, I sometimes call him 'Rudi'.” Sherlock explained, what made the older boy giggle even more.

 

“Do you have middle names?” the boy with the pirate hat wanted to know then. John abruptly stopped laughing and now it was his turn to turn a shade of red. After a short pause he mumbled: “Hamish.”

“Sorry?” Sherlock didn't get it as it was whispered so quietly.

“John _Hamish_ Watson,” the older boy repeated. “'Hamish' is my granddad's name. He was an army doctor and died in the war. But I _hate_ that name! It sounds so old.”

 

“I think it's a brilliant name. Especially as it's the name of a war hero! You should be really proud. And you could become a pirate doctor, that would fit you so much,” Sherlock told the blonde boy, who instantly wasn't that annoyed by his middle name any more.

“You're right! “'Doctor John Hamish Watson' – Pirate Doctor and 'Sherlock Holmes' – Captain of the Sherrinford. That sounds great!”

 

Excited Sherlock nodded and then sprung from his bed and was off into the direction of his massive big bookshelf to get out a book about the pirate Blackbeared, he wanted to show his friend. The two boys instantly began reading together, while lying down side by side on their stomachs on the comfortable bed before them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you say?   
> I sooo wanted to integrate the bit about their middle names :)  
> Trying to update within the next week!


End file.
